Star Thors
by Han'Gerrel
Summary: Oneshot. Loki has seized control of Asgard, and wishes to leave no loose ends. Written in response to a prompt asking for a Thor/Star Wars crossover, the fic is not actually a crossover, but a short story using recognizable elements of both fandoms.


The frost giants had made it very clear that what lay ahead was primarily for Thor's benefit, but they had been told to make sure that Sif and the Warriors Three were shepherded along as well. When prompted for more information on what exactly it was that Thor and his companions had to look forward to at the end of their long march, their captors went silent, shaking their heads and saying that they could only repeat what they had been told. Now, with the sharp pricks of ice blades at their backs, the once-valiant warriors walked in a single-file line, flanked by frost giants, making their way towards the large, majestic doors of the palace that had once so proudly housed the monarchy and court of Odin, but which now was as silent, still, and cold as a watery grave.

Sif and Hogun walked at the front of the line; they had held up well enough during the fight against the frost giants, managing to get out of the fray with only a few ugly scrapes and bruises. Thor followed close behind, his long mane of blond hair matted and flecked with blood, and behind him, holding up the end of the line, marched Volstagg, with Fandral hoisted on his back. Fandral's left leg dangled, broken and useless, beneath him, and the goateed warrior hissed in pain every time he was jostled too harshly, but he tried to keep his protests to himself, knowing that there were much more pressing matters that needed attention at a time like this that did not involve him and his broken tibia. Thor and his companions had put up a good fight, but in the end it had simply not been enough against an army of frost giants.

Now, wounded and stripped of their weaponry and armour, the group shuffled along at a resentful pace towards what had once been Odin's throne room, every so often looking up to afford one of their captors a hateful glance before returning their attention to the ground, watching their feet as they walked. The footpath was covered in uneven, unfamiliar patches of snow and ice that crunched under their boots as they walked, causing a chill to radiate through the polished marble floors and metal décor that before had been full of nothing but warmth and light. Even the flags and tapestries were now coated with a thin sheet of ice, effectively stopping them from blowing in the soft breezes that had so often wafted through the courts on warm days, but even those soft breezes seemed to not want to linger in such a place anymore.

Thor lifted his eyes as he entered the throne room, taking a look around to see what other changes had been made in the Allfather's absence. The imperial guards were nowhere to be seen, and in their stead, a frost giant stood in every corner of the room, barely visible in the shadows but for the glowing reds of their eyes, with two more frost giants guarding each door, making sure that if anyone tried to get out, it would be the last thing they ever did. Two especially large frost giants, what Thor guessed to be the foremost soldiers in Laufey's army, flanked the vast, ornate golden throne where the Allfather had once sat, but which now played host to an entirely different kind of imperator altogether.

The throne had been built for someone of a much larger stature, yet Loki had somehow managed to perfect a way of sitting that allowed him to take up the entirety of it. His posture was relaxed, almost effortless, the metal of his boots sliding off of one another as they clicked together absently, his elbow resting on one of the large, forged armrests of the throne, propping his angled chin up with one thin, pale hand in a gesture of practiced boredom. It figured, Thor told himself, that Loki would act as if this were just another everyday occurrence, but he knew better. Loki had been waiting for the opportunity to do something like this for a long time, ever since the day Odin had chosen Thor to be his heir and left Loki with nothing but the seemingly throwaway title of brother of the king.

It had eaten away at Loki, day after day, knowing that one day, he would no longer get to look at Thor and see his brother, his equal. It killed him knowing that one day, he would have to look at the child who had tormented him for fun, had taken one too many brotherly jokes a bit too far, had stolen the preference of both their father and their mother, and he would have to call him _king_. But now that the Allfather was out of the way and Loki had powerful allies under his command, it was only a matter of time before the tables would be turned, and Thor would be the one bowing to him, Loki, ruler of Asgard. Thor winced as he felt another sharp stab in the small of his back, and he stumbled forward, falling into line between Sif and Volstagg at the foot of the throne.

For a long moment, Loki sat absolutely still, his gaze fixed on his brother, kneeling at the foot of the stairs leading up to the throne, his expression cold and unreadable, somewhere between complacency and world-weariness. Then, rising to his feet with the a practiced, majestic grace, he stood before the throne, looking down at the ragtag group who now stood below him, bloody and bruised but their spirits unbroken. In one hand he held Odin's staff, an ill-earned trophy too precious for a coincidental king, but his grip on the staff was unrelenting, his expression cold, his lips pressed into such a hard, condemning line that they were almost blue. He could still see the light of defiance in every pair of eyes that watched him, but he knew that soon enough that light, like all the others, would go out, and would be replaced by nothing but cold and darkness.

"Nice of you to join me, brother," he finally spoke, his voice quiet. "I had hoped you would accept my invitation."

"I do not wish to play games with you, Loki," Thor snarled, raising his eyes to his adoptive brother, his jaw clenched so hard he could feel a muscle in his cheek begin to spasm.

"Games?" Loki repeated, raising his thin, arched brows in mock surprise. He scoffed at his brother's words, and then began to descend the steps of the throne, the light of a thousand glowing lamps flickering and glinting off the polished sheen of his helmet. "Oh no, Thor," he said, his voice still even and cold, never rising above a flat, clear, almost infuriatingly calm tenor. "We stopped playing games a long time ago."

"Why have you brought us here?" Thor demanded, getting to his feet, but his arms were quickly grabbed by the two frost giants guarding their group, stopping him from getting any closer to the self-proclaimed king. "So that you may gloat over your newly-won prize? So that you may show us what destruction you've wreaked on Asgard, that we might praise you for it?"

Loki paused in his descent, looking up at Thor as he came to a standstill on one of the stairs, the heels of his boots sliding together in a graceful, subconscious motion. "Destruction?" he repeated, sounding mildly surprised by his adoptive brother's choice of words. "No, no, you've got it all wrong. _I_ am not destroying Asgard. If the old ways were allowed to continue and manifest – _therein_ lies the destruction of Asgard." The staff in his hand moved out, his thin arm sweeping out past the line of his long, green cape, and the base of the staff pounded against the metal of the throne stairs with a resounding, governing _clank_. "What I _am_ doing is rebuilding Asgard," he said. "Starting over, so that Asgard may finally live up to the glory that it was always meant to be."

"You will never win, Loki," Thor spat, his chest heaving, but he did not dare try to take another step closer to his adoptive brother, for fear of what the frost giants would do to him if he tried. "The old ways run too deeply through the veins of Asgard. The people of Asgard are loyal to their king."

"I _am_ their king," Loki said, pressing a pale hand to his chest, his voice starting to rise for the first time.

"_Odin_ is their king, not you," Thor shot back. "You will never be king, Loki, not while Asgard still stands. No one will join in your senseless cause."

Loki fell silent, standing perfectly still, looking down the sharp bridge of his nose towards the man he once considered to be his brother. Then a soft, cruel smirk began to curve the corners of his thin blue lips upward ever so faintly, his head cocking marginally to one side as he observed the fallen god of thunder with pale green eyes. "Can you be so sure of that?" he finally asked, his voice as soft and biting as snake's venom.

Thor's brow furrowed, and he took a step back from the throne in confusion, but his confusion did not last very long, for soon the sound of heavy footfalls, muted by the crunch of ice and snow, fell upon his ears, and he turned, watching as a figure emerged from the shadows of the throne room, finally stepping into the cold pool of light at the base of the throne. The figure was clad from head to toe in rich violet robes, his silver helmet perched smartly over his dark hair, the fur at his collar and lining his heavy cape looking clean and untouched, as if he had never seen battle or the elements in his life. As the figure lifted his pained silver-blue eyes to Thor, the god of thunder could barely contain a soft gasp of shock at who had dared to step up to stand behind Loki's reign of madness.

"Balder?" he exclaimed, his bright blue eyes growing wide with disbelief. "No! You stand behind this… this lunacy as well?"

"I am sorry, Thor," Balder replied, his voice quiet and even, and there was something in his tone that told Thor that he was not lying. There was nothing false about the guilt he felt, but that still did not excuse the actions he had taken, and now continued to take.

"But… why?" Thor asked, holding out his hands imploringly towards his half-brother, as if hoping he could possibly supply some tangible explanation for his actions. "Why, Balder? You… you were my brother in arms. You were my _brother_. We fought side by side on the field of battle. Why…?"

"I had to," Balder answered. He fell silent, the guilt and pain clearly etched across his every feature, written into the lines of his silver-blue eyes, but then, taking a deep breath, he shook his head, taking a retreating step backward, as if regretting having come out from his position in the shadows at all. "Asgard is changing, Thor," he finally spoke up again, though there was something in his voice that made it seem as if he were having a difficult time believing his own words anymore. "And if we do not change with it, then we will surely die."

"That is a lie!" Thor exclaimed. "Balder, surely you must see that this is madness! Father will awaken, and Asgard will be healed – it will be as new again!"

"Nay, Thor," Balder said, his voice suddenly harsh, cutting over the protests of his former friend. "This is not like all those other times. This is different. Father may die, and you… you are unfit to be king." Turning his gaze upwards towards the dark-haired figure standing on the steps of the throne, he inclined his helmeted head towards the trickster god. "There is Asgard's true king," he said. "He has promised us a new age of prosperity, if we do as he says."

Loki smirked, clutching the precious, heavy staff close to his chest, and took another calculated step down from the throne towards the prisoners waiting at the bottom. "You truly do not understand, do you, Thor?" he asked, looking down at his adoptive brother, locking him with an unwavering, pale-green stare. "This is not something you can fight. This isn't some playschool battle you've suddenly found yourself thrust into the middle of, so that… that you can play _hero_." Opening his mouth, he shook his head, a wide, cruel, incredulously amused smirk working its way across his pale, pointed features. "It's _over_, Thor," he said. "There is no war. There is no battle to be won. It is _done_."

"Then why have I been taken your prisoner?" Thor demanded, looking up at Loki with an angry, imploring stare. "If there is no war, then I cannot be a prisoner of war. What have I done to disobey your laws?"

"It is not what you have done," Loki answered simply, his voice returning to the cold and callous tone of before. "It is what you _can_ do that makes you such an abhorrent enemy to this monarchy, and to this realm. Detaining you is simply a precautionary measure, for the good of the future of Asgard." Leaning the heavy staff so that he clasped it between both palms once again, he wrapped his long, spidery fingers around the cold metal possessively before turning his head and giving an indicative nod to one of the larger frost giants that stood beside the throne. The giant gave a nod in return before turning and leaving the throne room at a weighty jog, Loki's pale-green eyes barely seeming to blink as he watched the giant disappear from sight out the decadent double doors.

Thor faltered, confused by the ambiguity of his adoptive brother's last statement and by what exactly the frost giant had been sent to fetch. Taking a hesitant step forward, he leaned in to the ear of his violet-clad former brother in arms, his thick brows knitted together in a confused scowl, his blue eyes still fixated on the would-be king. "What is happening, Balder?" he asked, his usually boisterous voice now a biting undertone.

"You are to be frozen," Balder answered simply, barely turning his head to answer, his voice a garbled mumble through his clenched teeth. "In Jotun ice, as per King Loki's wishes." The warrior turned back to face his dark-haired monarch once more, his expression impassive, and Thor stepped back again, falling into place once more beside Sif and the Warriors Three.

The air suddenly shimmered and shifted at Loki's side, and from seemingly nowhere stepped an emerald-clad maiden, her strides as graceful and dangerous as a cat on the prowl as she approached the dark-haired monarch on the stairs, her finely-stitched skirt shifting about her thighs with a soft hiss as she moved. She paused a moment, her expression as impassive as her king's, observing the ragtag group that stood at the foot of the throne, before her gaze finally came to fall on Thor, lingering on him a bit longer than the others. Then, turning to face the similarly green-clad monarch on the steps, she leaned in towards his ear, the frozen, radiating lamps of the throne room catching the sheen of her hair as she moved, causing meres of light to pool and swell in the golden mane of curls that tumbled down the length of her back.

"You are so cruel," she purred, her silvery voice barely more than a whisper in the trickster god's ear, but somehow it still managed to carry in the stagnant, frozen air of the throne room as if she had spoken clearly to everyone gathered.

"Only when I need to be," Loki answered flatly, but it was apparent that he enjoyed the attention he was getting from the golden-haired sorceress.

"But what if he does not survive?" Amora asked, sounding much less concerned than what she was clearly trying to appear to be. At this, Thor's bright blue eyes widened, and he instantly looked up at the Enchantress in mortified surprise. She returned the gesture, turning to look him up and down, scrutinizing him as if he were some sort of tasty morsel she figured would be a shame to throw away, and a glib, almost seductive smirk curved up the corners of her ruby lips. "He is worth a lot, to me," she added, though whether this comment was for Thor's benefit or Loki's it was difficult to tell.

Loki did not even bother to spare her a look for her words. Instead, he merely smirked at the suggestion, giving a soft toss of his helmeted head in her direction. "Do not worry, my Enchantress," he purred. "I will be sure to… _compensate_ you, if he dies." Clutching the staff between his thin, pale hands, the dark-haired trickster lifted his sallow chin, his pale green eyes finally coming to rest on his adoptive brother. He stared at Thor for a long moment, as if hoping to somehow translate all of the pent-up hatred he felt for him, for Odin, for Asgard, for everyone who had ever doubted him, had ever second-guessed him, had ever treated him as less than the king that he knew himself to be in that one single look.

The look did not last long, however, for only a moment later, the heavy footfalls of the frost giant Loki had sent away earlier fell on their collective ears, and the trickster god quickly turned, watching the double doors of the throne room expectantly as the giant finally appeared through them, carrying in his hands a familiar, glowing shape. As he got closer to the throne and those gathered around the base of it, Thor could finally see clearly that what the frost giant held in his hands was the Casket of Ancient Winters, the object that had become the prize of Odin's treasury after the defeat of Laufey and the Jotun troops hundreds of years before, and which had sat, undisturbed, in the treasury, guarded by an unstoppable force, left on display as the pinnacle of his menagerie to serve as a reminder to the young would-be king and his brother that the Jotuns were not to be trusted, and that as long as the casket remained in Asgard, they could sleep soundly, knowing that there was no way that the Jotuns would be able to break into the treasury and steal back what was rightfully theirs.

Until now.

Loki watched as the giant approached the foot of the throne, his pale-green eyes following the vast figure's every movement until the giant came to a stop near the outer edge of the disparate circle that had gathered at the base of the stairs. He stared at the giant another moment longer, as if to make absolute sure he did not intend to come any closer, and then, turning his attention away from the frost giant, the trickster god instead looked over towards the warrior in purple who stood at his adoptive brother's side. Taking a deep, readying breath, he clutched the staff between his bony hands so tightly his knuckles began to whiten, and then, lifting his sharp chin once more, he pointed towards the man who had once stood for the good of Asgard, but who now stood only for the good of himself.

"Balder," he prompted, his voice sharp and clear in the ringing silence of the throne room. "The casket."

Balder faltered, seeming surprised to have been called on, and instantly turned his attention up towards the would-be king, staring at him with an expression best befitting an animal caught in a trap. Then, realizing what it was he had been called upon to do, he spared a quick glance over his shoulder, giving Thor one last, pained, apologetic look, before beginning to make his way towards the frost giant who stood at the base of the throne. As he approached, he stared resolutely at the casket, seeming determined not to allow himself to be intimidated by the sheer size of the being who held it, and, finally reaching it, he held out his hands towards the frozen artifact, the glow of the casket's energy radiating off of it in icy waves and casting the warrior's face into sharp, azure detail.

Balder's hands were steady as he took the casket from the frost giant, his transfixed gaze never leaving the swirling, glowing energy that lit up the relic from the inside out, bathing his purple armour in a wash of ghostly blue. He took only a moment to marvel at how an object with such heavy implications and importance felt so lightweight in his grasp before clutching the ornately forged handles firmly in his gauntlet-sheathed hands and turning away from the frost giant, slowly but surely beginning to make his way up the steps of the throne towards the trickster god. Loki watched as the violet-clad warrior approached, his staff clutched tightly between his thin hands, his sallow expression eager and complacent, and when Balder finally reached his side, he watched with an expression of haughty, keen detachment as the warrior dropped to one knee before his dark-haired ruler.

"My king," Balder said, bowing his head and holding the casket up obediently towards Loki's waiting hands.

At the sound of the regal title, Loki's thin, blue lips curled into a cruel, self-satisfied grin, and he turned, holding his staff out towards Amora, who took it eagerly, grasping it with both delicate hands and pressing the cold metal to her chest as if she had been entrusted with the care of a precious infant. Holding out his pale, long-fingered hands towards the relic that Balder now offered up to him, he grasped the handles firmly, allowing the violet-clad warrior's fingers to slip from the curves of the casket before lifting it to his chest, basking in the cold, luminous power radiating off of it like a small, frozen sun. Then, turning to face his adoptive brother once more, he held the casket out in front of him, his posture rigid, his elbows fixed at stately right angles as he lifted his proud chin, staring down the sharp, straight bridge of his nose towards the man who would be king.

"Step forward," he commanded, his thin, breathy voice somehow managing to fill every echoing corner of the throne room.

Before Thor had a chance to get to his feet, two of the frost giants who had been overseeing the group rushed forward, grabbing him by either bicep and dragging him to his feet and forward towards Loki and the throne. As one of them passed by Hogun, he suddenly lashed out, delivering a hard punch to the giant's gut which caused the blue figure to falter, letting out a pained grunt and clutching his stomach. The reaction was instantaneous – out of seemingly nowhere, two more frost giants appeared, grabbing hold of Hogun and wrestling him away from their injured brother. Volstagg let out a warrior's yell, charging into the small fray to protect his friend, but before Sif could have a chance to begin railing on one of the frost giants as well, Thor stepped in, pushing his friends and the frost giants apart with a shout of protest.

"Volstagg!" he shouted. "Hogun! Stop! Stop this at once!" Grabbing hold of each man's arm, he gave them a sharp yank, getting their attention and causing Fandral to exclaim in pain. "This will not help me," he told them, giving a sharp shake of his head. "This is not what I need for you to do. I need for you to look after Jane for me when I am gone. That is what I need for you to do." Looking between the two Warriors who had tried to put up a fight, he frowned, trying not to let the dread in his deep blue eyes show as he stared them down. "She is my friend," he told them, his tone imploring, but there was something else there as well, akin to the barely recognizable beginnings of fear. "She is only mortal, and she needs looking after more than she knows. Therefore, that is what I need you to do."

Thor locked his eyes with Hogun first, then with Fandral, trying to ignore the pang of guilt in his chest at seeing his friend in such agony, and finally, his gaze moved to Volstagg, who was red in the face from effort and anger. "Can you do that for me?" he asked, his voice lower now. "Can you watch after Jane while I am away?"

Volstagg hesitated, unsure, and then turned his head, looking over at Hogun, as if to see what his fellow Warrior had to say on the matter. Hogun returned the glance, and then, looking back at Thor, he gave an affirmative nod of his head, which Volstagg then repeated in turn. Thor nodded in return, and then offered them a forced, brave smile before turning away from them and towards Sif. The two locked eyes for what seemed like an eternity, and then, finally, unable to stop himself, Thor moved forward, cupping the warrior maiden's face in his strong, tan hand, and, closing his eyes, he pressed his lips to hers in one last, long, passionate kiss. The kiss was soon rudely interrupted by the feeling of a strong, forceful hand on his arm, and he found himself pulled away from her gentle embrace by two frost giant guards, pulling him forward towards the small clearing in front of the throne steps.

He did not drag his feet as he was led to the clearing, the same spot where he had knelt, ready to receive his kingship, only to have that day ruined by frost giants as well. It seemed that he, this particular spot, and frost giants were all interconnected somehow, but he did not waste time trying to think about it, instead staring straight ahead at his adoptive brother, determined, ready to meet his fate head-on. Thor turned, glancing back one last time at where his friends stood, only to see that a wall of frost giants had formed behind him, blocking off his friends from trying to come to his rescue. Still, he could just make out the features of Sif's face between the slope of one giant's arm and torso, peering out at him, anxious and resolute.

"I love you," she told him, raising her voice just loud enough that he would be sure to hear her.

Thor hesitated, unsure of how to respond to her words, and then, straightening to his full, proud height, he lifted his scruffy chin, the light of hopeful defiance entering his eyes once more as he looked at her.

"I know," he answered, and gave her one last, reassuring smile.


End file.
